


Hot Water

by marksmanfem



Series: Boondock Saints OC Arc [4]
Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Cockblocking, Coitus Interruptus, Cold, Cold Weather, Embarrassment, F/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marksmanfem/pseuds/marksmanfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She takes some time to think, then it's time for a shower. You know, with Connor. Takes place the morning after Cold Feet, will make more sense if you read that one first, but no one's twistin' yer arm. Fourth in my Boondock Saints OC arc. Rated E for smut and extremely cranky language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Water

And after all that, I can’t sleep. You’d think I’d be worn out after starting the night off with amazing sex from Connor and finishing with mind-blowing sex from Murphy, but no. Apparently the God of Sleep and the God of Sex are not playing nicely together tonight.

Sigh.

I lay next to Murphy for a while, doing the usual counting sheep, counting snores, that sort of thing. Murphy’s up to one twelve and Connor’s leading with one twenty-seven when I finally give up. I can barely see in the dim light as I hunt around for my socks. My clothes aren’t particularly warm, so I snitch a pair of Murphy’s sweatpants and one of his sweaters and slip both on, sans underwear (too much effort). To make up for the lack of under-coverage, I throw on the closest bathrobe, then quietly make my way out to the room with the elevator and the door that leads up to the roof.

I leave the door propped open, as it would be rather embarrassing to get stuck out here and have to get rescued or have to climb down the fire escape. I know for a fact neither Connor nor Murphy would ever let me hear the end of that one.

I make my way across the roof until I’m standing on the platform above the fire escape, surrounded by barrels. I hunt around until I find one short and stable enough to sit on, and I settle down, shoving my hands deep into the pockets of the bathrobe.

I’ve always had trouble sleeping alone; I tend to wake up a lot, or I’m just not able to sleep at all. If I’m really lucky, I’ll get nightmares before the sleeplessness comes. Most nights when that happens, I find somewhere comfortable where I can see outside and just stare at a spot in the sky, letting my thoughts scatter until they settled down enough for me to get some peace.

I haven’t had to do that a lot since I’ve started seeing Connor, and now that I may or may not also be seeing Murphy, I don’t think I’ll have too many more sleepless nights, as I’ll probably be bone-tired all the time from the extra…ahem…exertions. I’ve sat out here a couple of times, but nothing recent, so now I’m wondering what’s bothering me so much that I’ve reverted to old habits.

There’s a hint of light along the horizon, and I realize how late (early?) it actually is. There’s not too much traffic right now, so the noise level is down, and there’s a fresh wind blowing off the harbor, so it actually smells nice rather than the typical city-smell. The air is frigid, but it feels wonderful against my face, and I just sit and breathe for a few moments.

I find that I don’t do that often enough.

As I watch my breath fog and swirl away from me, a stray thought wanders through my head, and I grab it before it can disappear. This little bitch is what’s keeping me awake, I know it.

How can I possibly be good enough for Connor, much less him and Murphy?

I’ve only been in three semi-serious relationships before, none of them lasting even as long as I’ve been with Connor and all ending with me getting dumped, one because he was starting to like me “too much.”

His words.

That’s partly why I don’t try to make what I have with Connor more serious. I don’t know what it is about me that’s off-putting or repulsive or just not attractive to men, so I don’t know what I might do that may or may not scare him off…and now I have to worry about this with two of them?

I have no idea why Connor picked me out on the subway that first night. And it has to have been the first time he saw me, because he literally had no other reason to ride the subway night after night. I know because I asked him once.

So now two of the funniest, sexiest, most annoying jack asses I’ve ever met have decided they want to keep me around when they could easily have their pick of most of the women of South Boston (and quite a few of the men, according to an interesting story Murphy told me involving a drag queen and lots of alcohol).

It seems like we’re always just hanging out, having a good time. Now that I think about it, though, I am the one girl that Connor always comes back to after he goes out a time or two with anyone else. 

In fact, now that I really think about it, Connor hasn’t seen anyone else since the first month we were…together. Apparently, I’ve been enough for him for a quite a while now. And as that thought occurs to me, I realize that Murphy hasn’t been bringing anyone back to the boys’ place or to McGinty’s for a while, either.

A snarky little voice inside my head asks, So one MacManus isn’t enough for you? You’ve got to be greedy and have both? Is that it?

I ponder that thought a moment. I don’t believe that’s exactly true. Rocco said something to me once, the first night I met him actually, something about how if I was going home with one MacManus, I was going home with both. “A matched set, or some shit,” were his words, I think. This doesn’t feel wrong, like I’m cheating on Connor or coming between him and Murphy. It feels comfortable, feels like it’s the right thing.

It feels inevitable.

These annoying-as-hell, cocky sons-of-bitches have wormed their way somewhere near the vicinity of my heart, and I smile at that thought. I might freak out about the details and repercussions of this whole weird situation tomorrow, but as the sun creeps over the horizon, I think I’m okay with it today. I feel comfortable with them, safe even, like I’m more home here than I have been anywhere else in my life. I’m just not sure if I can tell them all that without sending them running for the hills. 

Oh, well. That’s a cerebral decision for a day that’s started with more sleep.

Warm arms snake around my waist, and stubble scratches my cheek. I don’t expect it, but I’m too relaxed to jump, so I decide a smile works better instead. I don’t even care which of them it is right now; I know whoever it is will either tease me, cuddle me, or some strange mixture of the two, as their mood takes them.

And I’ll love every second of it.

“Mornin’, darlin’,” Connor murmurs. “Sleep good?” I shake my head a little, and he pulls back, turning my face so he can read my expression. His eyebrows are raised, so I clarify.

“Didn’t sleep at all. My head was too full, and I was having flashbacks to sleeping alone. Couldn’t figure out why, so I came out here to decompress.” He nods, accepting this. We’ve talked before about my weird sleep hang-ups. In another startling moment of clarity, I realize that right after the first conversation we had about my sleeping habits was when he started spending more nights with me or insisting I stay with him. I’d never put that information together before.

See, this is why it’s good to have think-y time.

I lean back against him, pulling his arms around me again, and just breathe for a few minutes.

“Do you have to work today?”

“Naw, Murph does, though. He’s headin’ out in a few minutes, if y’want to kiss ‘im g’bye.”

So, we’re starting the teasing early this morning. After last night’s activities, I’m probably going to need a bigger boat to handle all the crap I’m going to get. Lord help me when Rocco finds out.

I cheerfully elbow Connor in the gut, then climb to my feet. I glance at him, and he grins up at me from where he’s sitting.

“I’ll come back inside in a few,” he smirks. “Give you two some alone time.”

Lord, grant me the patience.

I make my way back down the steps and into the apartment, and I notice the shower is running with no one in it. Then my eyes settle on Murphy, and I’m suddenly not so concerned with plumbing issues. 

He’s got his back to me, and he’s just pulling on a t-shirt, so I’m treated to a swoon-inspiring glimpse of his smooth, muscular back as the fabric slides down his skin. He turns as I step inside, and I can see that while he’s already got his boots on, his belt and jeans are still undone at the top. 

Oh…my…

Suddenly shy, I stop halfway across the room and gulp, my face heating as his eyes travel up my body. Even though I’m about as covered as I can be, I feel like he’s staring right down to my bare skin, and my stomach flips when the corner of his mouth quirks up.

After slipping on a sweater, he fastens his jeans, buckles his belt, and closes the distance between us. His hand touches my face, fingers brushing slowly down my cheek, and he holds my eyes with his.

“Not messed up after last night, are ye?” I know he’s covering all the bases here, emotional and physical, but the answer is the same for both, so I give him a tiny grin and shake my head. He plants a light kiss on the end of my nose and gives me a rare, genuine smile that is quite different from the smirk he throws around so often.

“Been wantin’ to do that wit’ye fer a while now, just glad yer okay wit’ it.” He pauses, turning serious, and now his hands are on either side of my face. “You’ll tell me if yer not, won’t ye?” I nod again, still unable to speak, and he smiles again.

“Got t’go now, but I’ll see ye later, yeah?” He kisses me slowly, and I swear if he didn’t have to leave right now we might have to have an encore performance of last night’s episode. The smirk returns as he correctly interprets the renewed heat on my face, and he winks before grabbing his coat and heading out the door. A minute later, the elevator is gone and some very warm hands are around my waist, lifting the hem of the sweater I’m wearing.

“Not sure how much I like seein’ ye in Murph’s clothes, dough…might need t’get ye out of ‘em.” I laugh, letting the bathrobe slip off and raising my arms to assist.

“You do know your shower is running, yes?”

“Fuck th’shower,” he purrs in my ear, grinding hard against my back. His teeth find a lonely, neglected spot on my shoulder and effectively cut off my coherent speech. My heart rate picks up, and I decide I might as well learn from last night’s lesson on the rewards of boldness. I take his hands in mine, slipping one of his to the waistband of my (Murphy’s) sweatpants and guiding the other to one of my breasts.

Have I mentioned how good these boys are at taking hints?

We’re just building up a good head of steam when Connor spins me around to face him, and I catch a glimpse of the clock.

Shit.

“Connor, I hate, and I mean really…seriously…mmmm…loathe saying this, but I’ve got to go.” He completely ignores me of course, simultaneously working to divest me of sweatpants and leave some fairly serious dark-purple bragging rights along my left shoulder. Oh, Lord. My resolve was never strong to begin with.

“Seriously…Connor, come on, I…damn it! I have work in two hours, and I still have to…get home…and…ohhhh…o…kay…(what is he doing with…his…oh…that’s…well…)…NO! Fucking hell, I still have to get a shower and…find…clothes…” I finally give up, trailing off into incoherence, which is par for the course for me during our average morning “conversations.”

“Y’know,” he murmurs against my neck, “Y’could just get a shower here. An’ ye don’t need fresh clothes, since y’ didn’t wear those bits over there fer terrible long last night.”

I finally wrench my brain back into the mode that enjoys having money with which to pay for luxuries such as rent and food, and I force myself to turn and step away, but this only results in Connor managing to spin me around so I’m face to face with him and his largely…er…convincing argument.

“Connor, there’s no effing way I’m showering here. The water never gets above frostbite, and your place is already glacial.” 

His eyes stray to my chest, making no effort to conceal exactly where he’s staring. 

“Aye, I c’n tell it’s a bit…nippy in here.” His gaze turns speculative then quickly morphs to mischievous, and I know that look. I lurch backwards, but before I can get three feet, he stoops down and throws me over his shoulder.

I would thrash, but I know firsthand both how cold and hard that damn floor is. When I realize where he’s headed, though, I make sure he knows that his entire bloodline for several generations in both directions is well and thoroughly doomed if he takes me within three feet of that shower. He ignores me (of course) and deposits me on my ass directly under the spray.

Those…two…scheming….dirty…rotten…

“Goat pleasuring sons of a one-eyed whore!”

Connor’s grin falters for a second. “Do what now, girl?”

“You!” I try to stand, scrabbling at the slick wall and floor and spluttering as the water washes over my face. He offers his hand, but I smack it away. Laughing, he grabs me under my arms and lifts, setting me back on my feet.

“Fuck you both and the boat you road in on!” I squall, trying to shove my mop of wet hair out of my face. “You’ve had hot water this whole fucking time and you never fucking told me?!? Do you and Murphy just like seeing your dicks that small?!?”

Connor silently holds the soap out in front of him like a peace offering, though the twitching corners of his mouth are threatening to become one hell of a smirk. Sighing, I take the proffered soap, realizing I’m not getting anything in the way of any apology, and begin lathering. If you can’t beat ‘em, you might as well join ‘em.

Who says cartoons aren’t educational?

The apartment is quiet for a minute, nothing but the shush of the shower, then Connor’s hands join mine in a deceptively helpful fashion, making sure to scrub the farthest, hardest to reach portions of my anatomy.

“Seriously, though, all those cold showers you let me take? What’s up with that?”

“Well, y’see lass, happens that I tend t’enjoy th’effect those cold showers have on certain parts of yer anatomy,” he pauses, emphasizing his point by firmly rolling the aforementioned parts between his fingers, and I lose my footing a little. He catches me easily, expecting this, then continues, “Ye have t’let th’water run fer a good long while t’get it up t’ temp’rature, s’why I had it runnin’ when ye came back in.”

Oh.

“So, how long does the hot water last?” I ask. I’ve given up on washing and am reaching backwards to savor the feeling of hot, slippery Connor under my fingers.

One of his hands glides down my ribs, over my belly, and past my navel. Most of the soap has rinsed off by the time he slides two fingers over my throbbing clit, and I don’t bother stifling a groan when he hits the perfect rhythm. 

His other hand keeps the same tempo on my nipple, and I find myself grinding back against him to the same pace. I have one hand fisted in his hair now, and the other is on the wall as I fight gravity to keep myself upright.

“It’ll last fer long enough,” he growls.

He maneuvers us deliberately, edging me a few inches at a time, and I don’t realize what he’s doing (I’m a little distracted, I’ll admit it) until his hand is missing from my breast so he can gently pry my fingers from his hair and place them flat on the wall next to my other hand. 

He has me leaning a little forward, legs just more than shoulder width apart, and he leaves one hand on my hip. His other hand is between us, moving, and then the tip of his cock is pressed against me, and…

Oh…yes…

We stay that way for what feels like an amazingly long time then he lifts my hips and almost leisurely pulls out. He slides back inside of me just as unhurriedly then stops again. Every nerve in my body is hypersensitive, and I think I might implode with impatience if he keeps this up. 

Each drop of water from the shower is a burning pinprick, and I’m shivering and trying hard to find purchase on the wall, and then he moves again, and I’m begging him to keep going this time, not to stop, please don’t stop, anything but this slow torture.

But we’re doing this his way, and he won’t speed up.

He’s leaning against me now, and I swear every inch of his skin on my back feels a hundred times hotter than any hot water, and his hands are beside mine on the wall, over mine, running up and down my arms in time to his unhurried thrusts, less than half the pace of the sharp, rhythmic throb of need in my belly.

“Are ye sure yer okay wit’ this new thing ‘tween th’three of us, lass?” His voice is smooth, deceptively calm, but I can hear the faint strain as he pulls out once more.

“I…am…what…huh?” Now? He wants to talk about this now? The water is pouring over us, still warm, and I’m lost in sensation, and if he would just speed up a little, I could—

“Don’t wantcha t’feel pressured…” He slips a little in his rhythm, thrusting harder than he means to, and I whine at the unexpected sensation, but he quickly regains his equilibrium.

Damn it.

“Really, lass, yer okay wit’…both of us?”

My head drops, and I’m trying to focus all my concentration on willing Connor to move faster. I made up my mind when I climbed back in from the fire escape; I know I couldn’t give up these two Irish jack asses even if I wanted to. I nod in response to his question, couldn’t find the words now to save my life. 

Well, maybe just two.

“Please…Connor…”

Maybe I convince him, maybe he’s just lost the last bit of his self control, but he seems to make up his mind that I’m fine, and now it’s all I can do to keep up. He wraps one arm around my ribs under my breasts, and his other hand firmly grasps my hip, keeping me tight against him as he changes to deep, hard thrusts. 

My breasts are swinging forward and back, slapping against his arm (it’s not a sensation you appreciate until you’re in the situation, I’ve learned), and my whimpers ratchet up something closer to a cross between a shout and grunt with every pounding thrust. I’m so close, my face is flushed, my breath is ragged, and Connor’s breathing is hoarse and loud behind me. My hands are slipping on the wall, the water is almost scalding, Connor is moving frantically, and I’m—

“Oh, shit, guys! Fuck! I’m sorry, shit, I’m sorry!”

Cockblockingwhoremotherfuckingsonofabitchwhatthefuckinghell?!?!

I’m strangely reminded of the first night Connor and I had sex, because suddenly I’m behind him (instead of the other way around) with no clue as to how I got here, he’s put himself between me and the door, and his arms are out to his side a little like he’s protecting me from something. I have the presence of mine to shut off the shower, at least. 

And Rocco is staring right at me, eyes wide and horrified (that had better be horror, I’m just saying) with his jaw nearly on the floor.

“Avert yer fuckin’ eyes, ye shtupid fuck!” Wow…I don’t think I’ve seen the vein in Connor’s forehead stand out that much…

If I weren’t in pain from being interrupted just shy of getting off, I’d almost feel bad for Rocco, who doesn’t seem to know what to do. Both hands are over his face, as if he’s afraid looking at me again will have the same result as looking at the Lost Ark or something (of course, judging from the look on Connor’s face, it might be just as painful), and he’s stumbling around as if he can’t decide whether he should sit down and wait it out or just leave.

“Roc, just…just wait out by the elevator for a minute, okay?” I do feel a little bad for him, honestly, and I think if he doesn’t leave the room, Connor might feel the need to beat the shit out of him. Rocco shoots me a grateful, apologetic glance over his shoulder as he scrambles back through the door, and I have to throw my arms around Connor’s waist to keep him from going after him. 

Connor relaxes after a moment and twists around, turning my hold on him into an embrace. He touches his lips to mine softly, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against mine. I choke back a giggle, and the corners of his lips twitch, so I know he’s not really mad at his friend.

“You…uh…want to cut him a break and get dressed?” Connor takes a step back, not letting go of me as he opens his eyes.

“Not ‘specially,” he says, slowly running his hands over my slippery backside. He eyes me a moment, squinting, a very familiar gleam in his eyes. “Though, I must tell ye, lass, yer lookin’ a wee bit under th’weather this mornin’. Are y’sure ye c’n make it to work today?”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t feel too great, now that I think about it. Couldn’t sleep last night, either. I must be getting some sort of bug or something. I hear you’re supposed to spend all day in bed for that.”

“But first,” Connor says, leaning toward the shower lever, “I think yer supposed t’take the hottest shower ye c’n stand…all while leavin’ yer friend awkwardly waitin’ in th’next room, of course.”

I grin, pulling Connor in for a nice, long kiss under the spray. 

“Let’s find out just how long this hot water actually lasts.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to DeDe324. She has been inspiration, encouragement, basically my Beta, and just generally great to talk to. She’s got some pretty epic Boondock Saints-ness going on herself, and I highly recommend checking her out. To everyone who has reviewed my other stuff, thanks! If you made it this far, thanks so much for taking the time, and please take just a little more to tell me how I’m doing. Thanks, again.


End file.
